


That Not Your Trespass But My Madness Speaks

by Dallas



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alderaan, Death, Gen, Kylo Ren-centric, POV Male Character, Star Wars: The Force Awakens Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 10:24:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5704207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dallas/pseuds/Dallas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unexpected moments make a habit of sticking in your mind. At the worst possible moment they can haunt you. Weaken you. Hold you back. It all comes down to perspective. {Spoilers for The Force Awakens}</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Not Your Trespass But My Madness Speaks

The first time he saw his Mother cry was also the only time.

He had still been too young to understand the importance of the memorial ceremony. All he had really understood of it all was that people gathered and stood in silence for too long. He had particularly hated the part where he was required to dress in fancy clothes. People he didn’t know rested their hands on his head and called him a Prince. Neither of his parents stopped them so it only proved to add to his irritation. Often candles were lit and prayers murmured to Gods nobody else seemed to know of. Even his Father bowed his head though he knew he didn’t pray. What use were Gods when the Force moved amongst them? It flowed through every one of the people surrounding him, siphoning into others who appeared only as memories around each of them. Those spectres brought with them a sharp pain. A sense of fear that had him clinging hard to both his parents’ hands. He remembered looking to his Mother for guidance, surely she felt it too. Instead he found her staring ahead stoically. She would not even spare him a glance.

On this particular day he had fought every aspect of it. Already informed he would be leaving to train with his Uncle, he’d had no interest in doing what his parents asked of him. The Force pained him on this day, he knew that much, and he would not go willingly into that hell. So breakfast had been flung across the room in a fit of fury. His clothes had been shoved with great enthusiasm into the refresher. A rather impressive tantrum had left his room looking more like a battlefield. He escaped Threepio in his underclothes and managed to slip into his hiding place without being seen. Indeed until his Mother had felt his presence he had been perfectly hidden in her closet listening to his parents fighting. Words muffled somewhat by his position. They always fought, it made no difference what it was about.

‘Come here, Ben,’ came his Mother’s voice after a lingering silence. A tart timbre that could cut through a blast door.

He revealed himself, standing defiantly before her despite his size. Face bearing a scowl that he had been told made him look older than his years. His Father had left again. His memory didn’t last long enough to know his Father had never left her on this day. He couldn’t possibly comprehend what that would mean or how it would affect her.

‘You’re supposed to be dressed. We have to leave soon,’ she said.

‘Father is not going. I do not have to go,’ he told her. His words were as clear and clipped as her own. As he said them he was aware of something sparking between them. Or rather, within her. He recognised it as anger. His own manifested so fiercely, whether it brought tears or screams, that it was all he needed to recognise. Upset had no place in his vocabulary. He had never seen anyone close to him upset, after all, so it had never registered as something he felt. His parents taught him anger and disappointment, concern and happiness. His Uncle stressed stability and peace of mind. His Chewie - as that was how he had always thought of the Wookiee, since he had never been given a title - mostly taught him indifference and humour. Nobody had ever offered sadness as an option.

His Mother did not respond. He noted the tightness of her jaw and the way her hands flexed as though she was actively trying not to make a fist. His Mother rarely yelled at him like she did at his Father. She rarely yelled at anyone like that. Yet, in her presence he saw the anger that circled her in those moments. Wound her up until she was nothing but raw energy. Even as a child he wondered what his Mother must be like in those moments when it was unleashed. More often than not it was quashed. That or his parents would disappear behind a locked door. It took him some years to determine what that meant and it only confused him further when he realised.

He watched her. Waiting. Wondering what she would do. Questioning why she hadn’t done whatever it was yet.

‘You will attend the ceremony with me, Ben. After which, you may return home. But the ceremony is an obligation we cannot ignore,’ she said slowly.

Obligation was a word he had known so long it had almost been the first one he spoke. It meant his Mother wouldn’t tuck him into bed or read him stories. It meant she couldn’t be disturbed. He curled his little fists. ‘I’m not going,’ he told her. ‘You can’t bring them back. They’re all screaming, and burning, and you’ll never bring them back!’

The Force constricted around them, tightening until he couldn’t quite catch his breath. ‘Out!’ she snapped at him, that one word sliced through the air.

His whole body stung as though she had slapped him. Dark eyes grew wide and round. The moment he could, he ran from the room. He ran hard and fast. As far from her as he could get. He ran until running was no longer an option. It was then that he slowed. He pulled himself up and by the time he realised he had gone around in a circle he was coming to a stop a few feet from his Mother’s door. He stood in the middle of the corridor, panting. It occurred to him that she might hear him if not sense him. Except that there was another sound coming from her room.

The image burned into his mind. He reminded himself of it at times when his Mother remained unreachable. She knelt on the floor lost in emotions he wasn’t sure he understood. The back of one hand pressed against her mouth as she cried against it. The noise sounded like pain but looked like one of his tantrums. Her free hand pressed against her stomach and it made him wonder if perhaps she had injured herself using the Force the way she had. It had made him feel a little bit sick.

Tears looked beautiful on his Mother’s cheeks, he had considered.

Years later as he watched the galaxy become streaked with red he wondered if she would cry for the souls the First Order were taking - just like her precious Alderaan. Those souls that would forever scream and burn in her mind as she mourned them. She would be plagued with the deaths of millions until her dying breath.

And yet, the Light stirred within him. It was the reason he couldn’t do it. He chose to chase the map instead of stay to see Hux’ glorious moment. The Light weakened him and made him feel things he didn’t want to feel. He tried to force himself to enjoy the image of his Mother weeping. He pushed for an anger that didn’t seem to come.

Millions of souls faltered as he watched on. He felt their pain and anguish as they failed to flee their fate. The Force ran silent after that. White noise and a sense of indifference. Behind his mask he closed his eyes and for a brief moment he thought he heard a small boy speak.

‘ _Do not cry, Mother_.’

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from 'Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 4' in which Hamlet confronts his Mother. The particular line comes after she has witnessed him speaking to his Father's ghost and she suggests it's madness that has brought these visions upon him. He responds by making it very clear they are her doing.


End file.
